


A Song Through Time

by GraceHolmes



Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Detective Sherlock, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Kid Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes and Feelings, Sherlock Plays the Violin, Sherlock's Violin, University Student Sherlock, retired Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 17:27:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5549144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GraceHolmes/pseuds/GraceHolmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Composing excellent music takes time, especially when it's weaved between two people like a ribbon. Sherlock Holmes first met River Song when he was four years old and their friendship developed as the decades passed. (Gift for Marcie, bayoublackjack)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bayoublackjack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bayoublackjack/gifts).



As with most things she happened to do, meeting one of her most interesting and closest friends didn't happen in the right order for River Song. Time travel threw a loop into life, but she wouldn't have it any other way. Sherlock Holmes was one of those people she kept coming back to. An extraordinary man with an insatiable thirst for knowledge. One man she was privileged to know for a very long time. And deep within her journal were snippets about him. Tales of adventure, admirations... and music.

River Song's journey with Sherlock Holmes began at the end. Time was relative and complicated, but it was fitting for someone as complicated and enigmatic as River Song.

_Christmas Eve 1981_

Sherlock Holmes had been begging for violin lessons for nineteen whole days before Mummy finally arranged for a teacher. Later he'd learn that Mycroft helped coax her. Sherlock had been almost four years old at that time.

The first year of lessons went well. Sherlock was a quick study, always had been, at least compared to other children. So he took to it like a fish to water. It was something he was better at than Mycroft, it was the very first thing he'd been better at than his brother. Mycroft played the piano like he did most anything he wasn't terribly interested in. Lazily.

And it was in the mid afternoon of the day before his fourth Christmas that William Sherlock Scott Holmes met River Song for the first time. He was standing in the Holmes family room, violin under his chin and bow in his right hand. The sun was streaming through the nearby window, casting sunlight over his young but identifiably angular face. He was entirely focused on making sure this violin piece went as it should.

It was Christmas after all.

There was just a light dusting of snow outside, but his sharp eyes caught sight of a curly blonde haired woman outside. He stared at her a moment, unconsciously shifting towards the light outside. Only to have her catch his eye through the window. She smiled.

Sherlock's curiosity was piqued. And he was sure he wanted to investigate. Perhaps she was one of mummy's university friends. Mycroft would have said no to speaking to a stranger, so of course that was the final thing that pushed him to make the decision. Violin still in hand, he walked to the window and unlatched it. Something he was adept at doing, anyways. Across the house, Redbeard barked, but Sherlock didn't pay any attention.

He leaned out the window and stared at her as she approached. "Who are you?" He demanded.

Her mouth twitched into a smile again, pink lipstick. He noticed. Her voice was smooth, her accent hard to pin down exactly. She must travel extensively. "I'm Professor River Song."

"You're not from here, are you?" Sherlock asked, his little voice dropping in seriousness.

"No, I'm not."

Sherlock squinted his eyes at her, trying to figure out who she was. He wasn't getting very far and he huffed a little sigh. "My brother is teaching me de-deductions. He always wins."

"Oh don't worry, William. You'll beat him sometime, I'm sure."

At that his eyes narrowed. "It's Sherlock. How do you know my name?"

"We've met before."

"I don't remember." He shifted the violin in his hand and stuck a lip out. "I've got a good memory, I would have."

River laughed quietly, affectionately. "I know, you're very smart."

"Mycroft says I'm a stupid little boy."

"You are not a stupid little boy, William." River crouched down to be eye level with him, a smile pulling at her lips again. "You are a very special boy, and you're very smart. Shouldn't listen to everything your brother says."

Sherlock's piercing blue eyes stared her down and then he gave a little shrug of his thin shoulders. "Okay."

"Now….Sherlock Holmes. Perhaps you should try and deduce me." River suggested, glancing away from him for a brief moment before bright eyes returned to her young friend. "I think you can."

Sherlock's brow pinched. "You don't look ordinary." He said first. "Your….clothes don't quite make sense. You travel a lot."

"Quite right." River smiled proudly. "Try some more. Think of the impossible…and then think bigger."

Sherlock thought, but his four year old mind couldn't figure out the possibility of time travel quite yet. That was still on the list of impossible things as far as he and his brother were concerned. He'd already tried, wanting to travel to see seventeenth century pirates. He gave up his attempt, pouting just a bit. "I don't know."

"And you don't like not knowing, do you? I'll give you a hint…I'm a bit mad." River asked him with a fond smile. "You'll understand someday, William. I promise."

"Why not now?"

"Because you're not old enough."

"I'm _almost_ five. That's old enough, isn't it?"

River Song didn't reply to that question and instead asked another one. "What are you playing today?"

"I'm working on a Christmas medley." Sherlock answered proudly. "Three songs in one. It's going to be brilliant."

"I'm sure it will be." River laughed quietly. "Do I get a preview?"

"If you remember to clap after I'm done." Sherlock returned with a mischievous smile on his young face, on that would follow him into adulthood.

That day, Sherlock's violin piece was complete and perfect. The melody was finished and whole as he'd learnt it. And he played proudly for this stranger, completely oblivious to the part she'd play in his future. Because the melody was about to get a lot more complicated from there.

River watched him play with a quiet fond appreciation, and was equally quiet about her book full of secrets. He'd learn soon enough.


	2. Chapter 2

_December 1997_

In years following, River met Sherlock again just a couple times as he was growing up. The second time was when he was twelve and Mycroft left for university. That time Sherlock's deductive skills were put to a test and her status as a time traveller was revealed.

The next meeting happened when Sherlock was fifteen and on summer holiday at the seaside, another when he turned seventeen and another the next year. Their visits weren't too long, and she just hinting at future things to come. Hinted at adventures to be had. She never gave anything away.

Then Sherlock didn't see her until his twentieth year. He was in university now, working through a chemistry degree and spending the time in the orchestra between labs, classes, studying. It helped him keep busy and focus.

At the moment, it was the whirlwind of finals week. And in the midst of all the tests and studying, there was also the annual and much loved traditional Christmas concert. Sherlock had an important solo, a piece he was playing with the choir and a piano.

It was the middle of the night and he found himself standing in the middle of the stage of the concert hall alone. The lights were dim, and he had neither music nor audience. But the violin melody that echoed between the walls had a calming effect on his ever racing mind. He didn't need to practice this one, he was an excellent violinist. But he also used the time to think, to process, to focus his mind in ways that only could happen through music. And it was a good a song as any.

"Play me a song, William." A familiar female voice drifted from the side of the stage when there was a lull in the piece.

Sherlock paused, the bow still on the strings as he turned towards her, eyes open and calculating. "One never knows when one is going to see the ever enigmatic Professor Song." He commented, finally lowering the instrument. "Now when are you from?"

"You know I never answer that question, sweetie." River stepped into the light of the single spotlight. All curly hair, flirty smile, and difficult at deducing. "It was beautiful, by the way. The concert went quite well."

"It's in two days." Sherlock replied stoically

"Yes, and it went well. Beautiful." She laughed. "And that's saying something, because the feline instrumentalist choir on Chanson is phenomenal."

"Why are you here now then?" He asked, filing deductions away for later consideration.

"I told you, I want you to play me a song. You do compose, don't you? Helps you think. And perhaps I'm a bit selfish and I'd like you to ponder about me as you write something." She paused. "Think you're up for the challenge?"

Sherlock eyed her again, propping the violin up under his chin again. "Do you have anything specific in mind?"

"Oh, I think something a bit…enigmatic, challenging, with a hint of musical flirtation should do the trick." River laughed quietly, walking in a wide circle towards the front of the stage. "You never fail to impress me, young William."

Sherlock swiped the bow across the strings in a tuneless chord. "It seems a Melody wants a melody, but you should know that excellent music doesn't just happen."

"Oh, I'm well aware of that." River pulled to a stop, her back to him and her arms open as if to embrace the crowd that wasn't there. She breathed in and out deeply, closing her eyes just a moment. "But I have all the time in the world."

"Time." He commented, nearly dramatically. "It's always that way, isn't it?"

"Indeed." River shook out her curls.

"You promised me a trip." Sherlock said next, absently pulling random notes out of the strings. "Somewhere exciting. Somewhere where I could think."

"When you're older. Soon, I think." She said, turning back towards him with a wink. "For now, I think you have exams to study for. And a song to write."

"Is there a deadline for this piece?" He asked.

"Not really, but I am going to bug you more frequently now."

"More regular visits now." Sherlock deduced, his unique clear colored eyes scanning her in a way that was both curious and frustrated.

"Correct, as usual."

Sherlock didn't reply to that immediately, instead experimenting with a series of notes. "Perhaps I'll see you soon then."

"Count on it. Wouldn't miss our chats for the universe."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Chapter 3  
December 2004

How drastic a change the years would bring for Sherlock. And the once struggling student, was now struggling in another light. His ever racing mind went into overdrive and he turned to something he was sure would keep it occupied. Something to make life bearable. And it had been an on and off drug habit he'd struggled with for quite some time now. He'd work in the meantime, missions mainly,...when he was sober enough.

Sherlock was out of cash and currently a couple days sober, but hiding as best he could from brother's ever watchful eye. At the moment he was in Trafalgar Square with his old violin, busking for the few pounds it would take to feed him, and using the rest to fund his 'ghastly habit'.

He was playing Christmas carols. Ironic perhaps. Considering he had no plan to celebrate the holiday nor even return home for it. Not unless he was shoved into the back of a government vehicle and kidnapped by the British government's minions. In which case he was not going to be happy. Christmas and family were pointless to him right now.

"William." River's voice was heavy this time as her all seeing eyes ran over his too skinny frame. She'd appeared not too far away in the crowd of people, no one giving her a second glance, and stalked towards him.

"Not in the mood, River."

"Well neither am I for your…attempt at coping with your extraordinary brain." River said, pulling out her phone, which looked something more from fifteen years in the future. "I do have your brother on speed dial. He's more fun to flirt with than you are. Not that there will be any of that at the moment. Pity."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and put the violin into the case, already filled with various pound notes and coins. He closed it tight and glared at her again. "Don't you dare."

"And why not? You don't seem like you're going to listen to me."

"I'm not. My choices are mine and mine alone. I don't need Big Brother and Time Traveller telling me what to do. I don't care."

River's gaze was fiery, and she looped her arm through his and whisked him away from the busy square to another location. This was a countryside home with old beehives and a lush garden. The significance of it would hit him later. "You, William Sherlock Scott Holmes are a brilliant idiot. You're an impossible, impossible man. Difficult in every sense of the word." She put her hands on her hips and continued. "You're too clever and too bright and too amazing to waste your abilities by dosing yourself up every other day. I won't stand for it."

"And why not?" Sherlock challenged, but it was weakening.

"Because you're one of my best friends." River replied stoically. Psychopathic at times, of course, but she cared very deeply about a select few. "I won't watch you do this to yourself. I love you."

That effectively took the wind out of Sherlock's sails and his shoulders slumped just a bit. He'd never had a best friend before, he'd never had those words uttered to him aside from his family decades ago. He wasn't sure how well she knew him, but he deduced it was more than he remembered. He took a deep breath in. "I don't know what else to do."

"Ask for help, you're not alone in the world." She said, reaching for his hand. She gripped his, the warm skin-on-skin contact an almost relief. "Even if it's only me and your brother right now, you're not alone." Her expression was soft, surprisingly so. "And if I may give you some spoilers…you're only going to soar up on your own wings from this point. I promise."

Sherlock wasn't meeting her eyes, but his hand flexed around hers. He hadn't responded either, so River continued. "Can I take you home? Can I take you somewhere safe?"

"Yeah." He answered very quietly and then repeated it a bit louder with a nod. "Yeah, that's fine."

River shifted so she could press the vortex manipulator and take them to a immaculate office somewhere in London. At the desk with hands on a computer keyboard was the British Government.

"Professor Song, I…" Mycroft trailed off when he caught sight of Sherlock peeking out just behind her. He released a breath and sat back in his chair, covering up a worry with a stoic but grateful expression. "I thank you."

Sherlock pulled away from River to turn his back on them both and let out his own shaky breath. Time would heal, time would help. It was only a matter of getting through things the slow way.


	4. Chapter 4

221B Baker Street - 6 January 2017

Music filled the flat. And not the nice pleasant type music, if one could even call it that. Not tonight. Starting and stopping abruptly as the author of the noise didn't bother to care what it sounded like. Disjointed notes, harmony-less chords and patterns, and squeaks across the delicate strings of the violin.

Sherlock Holmes was in the middle of a case. Or more accurately, he was near the end of a case. So close he could taste it. But the clues laid before him left him with little answer and he couldn't think. Or focus. He couldn't get that last little bit that would bring the suspect to light. It was beyond frustrating and he was taking it out on his violin.

"You know, that sounds a bit how my husband drives." River said from the couch. Her arms were draped on the back of it and she had a devilish smile on her face. She'd arrived some minutes before, completely unnoticed by the detective.

"Busy." Sherlock said, glancing once over his shoulder at her but otherwise going back to the piece of music. "I'm working."

"I gathered that. Sorry. Must have mixed up my dates. I thought it was your birthday today. And I thought we had an appointment. A date, as per usual."

"Is it my birthday? Oh, it must be. Doesn't matter, I'm working a case." Sherlock made a dismissive motion with his bowing hand.

River scoffed. "Sorry, William, I'll be hanging around until you're done. So you better hurry up."

"I can't!' Sherlock argued, lowering the violin and turning towards her. "I can't solve this one. There's no…there's nothing here, The killer just vanished, no one had motive. I need to think through it again. I don't have time for a skip across the galaxy today."

"Time is relative, sweetie." River pointed out. "But your brain isn't going to quit. At least I don't think it will, you really should let me have a peek inside." She stood up and turned in a dramatic flare of her long coat. "Now, let's look at the options. I had a lovely little place in mind for birthday celebration and I'm not missing out on dinner with my favorite detective." She studied the bits of paper all over the clue wall. "Maybe you just need a muse, dear."

"A muse?" Sherlock scoffed.

"You know what that means, don't you?" River returned with a smile.

"Yes, yes, I know what that means. I don't need a muse, I already want to solve the case." Sherlock retorted. "I don't need something to give me the desire to do that."

She walked over towards him, a slight sassy wiggle to her gait as she approached him. But her intentions were innocent. With gentle hands she helped him put the violin back up to his chin. "Play me a song, William. And make it a good one. Not any of that back and forth racket…something soft and sweet," she smiled just a bit wider, "and just a bit flirty. Something to remember."

Sherlock eyed her, but relented not a moment later. He straightened up and whooshed the bow down and then back up to his strings. He started a melody. Not the start and stop obstinate notes of the thinking piece. This was something else. Nothing terribly thrilling or complicated. Yet.

River stepped away from Sherlock, a smile on her face betraying her appreciation. She swayed just a bit, as if barely suppressing a dance. The lilt and lift of the piece was invigorating. The music continued as he worked over the melody until…

"Oh!" Sherlock put down the violin a moment later, almost carelessly, and took out his phone. His fingers were lightning quick on the screen as he typed out a message to one Greg Lestrade. "How did I miss that? The wire was on the wrong side. I shouldn't have missed that. It was definitely the great-nephew!"

"And that's exactly what I thought." River said, already holding out his Belstaff for him from where she'd retrieved it. "Shall we?"

Sherlock was, at the moment, on the high of a solved case. He stashed the phone back in his pocket (universal roaming, so in case Lestrade needed more information or John texted), grabbed his coat from her.

"That Ozwald Boating looks fantastic on you, by the way." River commented as she looped her arm through his. "Wore it just for me, did you?"

"Must have, it was a Christmas present after all." Sherlock said, giving the flat just one more look as they zapped away to another adventure. Then his eyes turned to her and the world she'd brought him to.

The birthday trip was a common tradition now. They rarely missed an excursion or conversation, however short, on his birthday. The years past and the years in the future gave Sherlock something to look forward to, an interesting woman to try to figure out.

Intrigue was plentiful and mutual, and Sherlock Holmes found a fascination in every minute he spent with River Song. The years would only cause that to grow.


	5. Chapter 5

Sussex Downs - Summer 2066

The first time River Song would meet Sherlock Holmes would be the last time he met her. Sherlock was nearly ninety at that point. John Watson had left him alone the year previous. Aside from John and Mary's daughter, the only one of his old friends still alive at this point was Molly Hooper-Wilson, happily married and spoiling grandchildren in a town not too far away. Mycroft had been gone for years already. Lestrade and Martha Hudson the same. Life moved on, whether those left behind wanted it too or not.

But Sherlock wasn't really alone. His mind was as sharp as ever and the memories he could pull up in his head were many. Because as his mind continued, his body was failing, slowly shutting down. It was fine. He never expected to live long without John Watson anyways.

Meeting River Song would be completely by chance. An accidental encounter. She had assured him that he wouldn't have to do anything out of the ordinary to ensure it happened that late summer day.

At the moment, Sherlock was in his gardens, he'd taken a rest on the bench nearest the beehives. To keep his hands busy, he'd brought his old violin out to play outside. He nearly insisted the bees were partial to it, at least to anyone who came to see him. The air was warm, the sun peeking out from behind the clouds. It was a beautiful day.

There was a familiar zapping sound, followed by the appearance of a curly haired woman. Sherlock's lips curled into a smile but for the moment he went unnoticed by her as she fiddled with the vortex manipulator on her wrist.

"Twenty-first century Sussex? Now I know I need to fix this thing again. Cheating little Zel-" As she turned, she noticed him on the bench and stopped. She flashed her signature smile. "Oh hello."

Sherlock regarded her in a calculating way, his hands stilled on the strings of his beloved violin. "Interesting."

"Of course it's interesting. It's me." River said unashamedly, with a brush of fingers through her hair. "Now, if you'll excuse me…"

"You're more than welcome to go, but I'd like you to stay and hear something." Sherlock said, bringing the violin to his chin. "I think you'll like it, River. It's a song to remember."

Her pink lips were smiling, curiosity in her eyes as she looked over the man she didn't know yet. His movements were slowed with age, thin fingers riddled with loss of dexterity and arthritis. But if this was one thing he was determined to keep, he would.

The notes that hummed from the old instrument were clear, the melody neither simple nor exceptionally complicated. Soft and slow, enigmatic, and just a bit flirty. It started low and gradually moved up the strings to the high notes. Sherlock's eyes closed after a bit, muscle memory guiding his fingers and his bowing arm. He didn't need to watch River's face as he played, he knew exactly what she was experiencing. He played the song he wrote for her, over eighty years in the making. His thoughts drifted from the very first time he'd seen her, that nothing more than a very distance memory of images and smells. His thoughts drifted to the nights spent in quiet conversation. Of John asking questions. Of adventures had together via the currently dysfunctional vortex manipulator. And all those memories he'd written into music.

River Song was a muse, and this was Sherlock's final song for her.

The inspired song came to an end eventually, the melody enough to get lost in, so it was difficult to say how much time had passed. And as Sherlock pulled the last long note out of the instrument and then lowered the bow, he released a deep sigh and opened his eyes.

River was smiling, the light in her eyes was twinkling curiosity and fascination. He liked it when she looked like that. Like after she'd joined him on a case, or when she took him to another world. Adventures that were now only fond memories.

"That was beautiful." She said, genuinely interested and completely in awe. "Why?"

"Because you, River Song, inspired that. And I wanted the chance to play it for you again."

"Curious." River was very interested, but there was a certain amount of knowing. "You're not going to give too much away, are you?"

"No. Not yet. You'll find out. This gives me the chance to be one up on you." Sherlock returned with a smile. Age and reflection had softened him. And he was quite sure this was the last time he'd see his oldest friend. "Spoilers."

"How exciting." River exclaimed in the usual way, her blue eyes sparkling. "If the music is anything to go by, I think I'm very much going to like you."

Sherlock stood up, his cane in his right hand to support him, his violin case in his other. His eyes, sharp as ever behind wire frames, scanned her as if memorizing every last detail all over again. "Goodbye, River Song. I think you'll enjoy what you're headed towards…." He turned away, facing the western sun and breathing in deeply before he finished. "By the way, the name's William Sherlock Scott Holmes... Could be dangerous."


End file.
